Fell Shadow
by Karri
Summary: An end to Thranduil’s carefree childhood looms nigh.


Racing toward the palace entrance, Thranduil crashed with an 'ooof' into the solid form of an elder elf

Racing toward the palace entrance, Thranduil crashed with an 'ooof' into the solid form of an elder elf. Tilting his head, he glanced sheepishly at the mildly irritated, mostly amused visage of his uncle. Thranduil's gaze dropped to the floor, but he breathed a silent sigh of relief.

"Your pardon, uncle," he dutifully apologized, donning his very most contrite expression.

"You have done no damage, young one. Do not be troubled."

Thranduil lifted his gaze, and Thingol smiled, affectionately squeezing the youth's shoulder. "Now tell me, nephew, why have you such need of haste?"

"Thalionel said I might ride with him today to meet the northern patrol and return with Mablung," Thranduil explained, excitement lighting his fair features.

"Did he?" Thingol raised a dubious eyebrow. Thalionel found his little brother nearly impossible to refuse, but, surely, a seasoned warrior such as Mablung was immune to Thranduil's charm. "Mablung has agreed to his part in this?"

Thranduil nodded enthusiastically, and Thingol shook his head, amused. Apparently battle-hardened did not mean Thranduil-hardened.

"But Thalionel said I must not be late, and I am," the youth added, with a not-so-discreet glance toward the gate.

"You better hurry along then," the elvenking excused him. Grinning, Thranduil dashed off, and Thingol resumed his trek, amusement lingering on his fair face.

As he flew toward the gate, Thranduil wondered if his uncle were returning from the treasuries. His brow knitted as he envisioned the disapproving frowns that would have adorned the faces of father and Celeborn if that were the case. Such expressions always befell his elders when it was suspected that Thingol had made yet another of his ever-increasing sojourns to admire the great gem stored within the depths of his inmost treasury. Grave whispers would then follow, of which Thranduil had only ever managed to catch wisps of before his elders excused him. It was enough, though, to stir the growing shadow of foreboding that haunted his dreams. Shuddering at the thought of it, Thranduil peered over his shoulder in the direction of the treasury…and crashed with an 'ooof' into the solid form of another elder elf. Cringing, he hesitantly raised his eyes. They immediately fell back to floor.

"Your pardon, Mablung," he offered, disappointment dripping from each syllable. He'd known he was late, but hadn't realized he was that late.

"Be at ease, young one," the warrior replied with a patient, knowing smile. Resting his hand on Thranduil's shoulder, he added, "If you have no previous commitment, perhaps you would care to ride out with me after the noon meal? Bregolas informs me that Nemorn's shoulder seems to him mended sufficiently that he may again carry a rider. If you agree to it, I would have you ride him for me, so that I may observe how he carries the weight of a rider without burdening him overly with the full weight of an armed warrior.

Thranduil lifted his gaze and, grinning, nodded, enthusiastically. "Thank you, Mablung."

The warrior nodded, smiling at the youth's excitement. Thranduil nearly always managed to get a smile out of him. Perhaps it was only that the irrepressible spirit of youth chased away the shadow Luthien's departure had cast over the realm. However, the warrior suspected it was something more unique to Thranduil. He had some inherent quality that drew others to him.

_Thranduil would make a fine heir,_ the warrior considered, not for the first time -- he seemed forever spotting suitable heirs among the royal princes of Doriath. As he always did, Mablung quickly banished the thought. _Thingol has a perfectly suitable heir,_ he sternly reminded himself. _It is not, after all, Dior's fault that so much mortal blood runs through his veins._

Forcing back a sigh, the warrior leveled a paternal gaze upon the youth before him. "Do not be late."

Thranduil nodded so contritely that Mablung nearly laughed. Striding quickly away, he just made it around the corner, before breaking into a broad grin.

Thranduil fidgeted with unspent excitement as found himself alone and unexpectedly at loose ends. He danced on his toes, trying to decide whether to continue on to the stables or return to his family's rooms. If he hurried to the stables, he was certain Bregolas would let him help brush down Mablung's great stallion-– afterall, Nemorn ought to look his best for his first outing in some months. Determining that returning to his family's rooms held little prospect for entertainment, Thranduil stilled his toes long enough to turn them back toward the gate and then raced through it.

"Soon, impatient one," Thranduil cooed as Nemorn lightly nudged his shoulder. Shifting around to the horse's head, Thranduil gently stroked the Nemorn's velvety black nose. "I do not blame you. I would be impatient, too, had I been stuck in my stall for as long as you, but we must wait until after the noon meal; Mablung decreed it so, and so it must be."

Nemorn huffed in reply, ruffling the young elf's hair and earning a chuckle from the stablemaster.

"Indeed, Mablung has deemed it so," Bregolas remarked, patting the stallion's shoulder. "Though he may perhaps change his mind if he discovers you have missed that meal in your eagerness, especially when he learns that in your earlier haste, you also missed the morning meal."

Thranduil peered cautiously at Bregolas, judging the severity of the stablemaster's expression. Bregolas was, for the most part, an easy-going fellow and so had not fussed overly when Thranduil had procured his breakfast from the apple-barrel by the stable door, but though his expression now was patient rather than stern, Thranduil comprehended that he would not be taking any horses from the stable today without a proper meal in his belly.

Giving Nemorn's muzzle a departing pat, he turned toward the door. "I shall bring you an apple when I return," he promised, and then flashing a grin at Belegorn, added, "I shall bring one for you, too!"

A bark of laughter ringing in his ears, Thranduil raced out the door and collided with an yet another 'ooof' into a large body. Sighing resignedly, he glanced up warily, hoping dearly that the person was neither Mablung nor his uncle. It would not due at all to collide with the same person more than once in a day!

The face that greeted him brought the terror shadows of his night dreams crashing down upon him. Falling back, Thranduil stumbled and fell. The person took no notice, but simply strode on as though oblivious to all life and light as Thranduil scrambled back to his feet and retreated to the safety of the stable.

Bregolas watched in alarm as the youth who had dashed out the door grinning only moments before darted back inside and scurried over to the deepest corner of the farthest stall. He hesitated a moment, undecided whether to race out the door or to the child's side.

Having seen no obvious wound or injury, though, Bregolas moved to the door and peered out cautiously just in time to see the grim shadow of a Man disappear across the bridge. He turned his gaze toward the palace entrance, seeking signs of a disturbance. Instead his eyes met Mablung's.

"What shadow is it that has just passed?" he asked as the warrior strode up, frowning grimly.

"A shadow of doom, I fear," Mablung murmured in reply, "come to us in the form of Hurin Thalion."

The end.

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